9 Crimes
by myheartwees
Summary: Leave me out with the waste, this is not what I do. It's the wrong kind of place, to be cheating on you It's the wrong time, he's pulling me through It's the wrong time, and I got no excuse


Eli.C: "You want to come over?"

"Hi," Blaine said bluntly, standing in the doorway.

"Hellooooo there," Eli responded flirtatiously, arm extended, palm pressed to the opened door beside him. He seductively canned every inch of Blaine, clearly impressed by what he saw, as he nibbled his lower lip.

"Uh… no. I'm not here… Look…" Blaine was at a complete loss of words. His body was rigid both from the freezing evening air of Lima and the discomfort of the situation at hand. "Can I… Can I come in?"

"Well of course you can, sexy, you can come anywhere you like," responded Eli, his double entendre sending shivers of disgust through Blaine.

"I'm not here… I just want to talk, Eli," Blaine said sternly.

"Sure, follow me," Eli said disappointedly as he led Blaine away from the front door of his apartment to the living room. It was far from lavish, with dark green walls that cast even darker shadows in the night and two small red sofas facing each other, separated by a mahogany coffee table adorned with a doily and an ice bucket filled with two bottles of wine.

Blaine kept his hands in his pockets and his head down, an excruciating and awkward discomfort radiating through his bones. He followed Eli to the couch and sat in the sofa across from his blonde pursuer, mindful not to do or say anything that could be misconstrued as an advance.

His knees glued together and right foot tapping violently, he frantically perused mind for the words to use for this delicate situation. This night could end in several ways, and he knew his expectation and Eli's were very, very different.

"I didn't come here because you asked me to, Eli… I… I wanted to tell you that I'm—I'm sorry. Sorry if I led you on, or something. I'm not really looking for anything right now. I mean, just the fact that I was at Scandals that night—"

"Yeah, why were you?" Eli asked curiously, his pointed noise scrunching. "I never pegged you for a gay bar superstar." Upon hearing those words issue out of Eli's too-plump lips, Kurt's supple mouth enters Blaine's mind, uttering those same words, his voice smooth and soothing. He loses himself in his fantasy for a moment, until Eli's shrill voice lasso's him back.

"Blaine…?"

"Well, I'm not really sure. I guess it's because, my boyfriend and I used to like to go there sometimes, just for the hell of it. We'd see crazy people pass us and try to make up stories about them. Then we'd see who got hit on the most by the end of the night. Whoever did had to buy the other a drink. It was silly—" (It's not silly, Blaine's own words echo in his mind, haunting him, tearing him away from the present, as he feels Kurt's lips press against his in an empty auditorium) "—but it was ours. And I was hoping I could revisit it, I guess."

"I get it. But… where is your boyfriend?"

"New York. He's, uh, got a brand new job there and he's… he's really making it," Blaine responds, doing his very best to keep his voice steady so as not to reveal any weakness Eli may be tenderly touched by or want to take advantage of.

"Wow, that's far away. You know what they say about long distance relationships…"

Blaine raised his head and looked at Eli, awaiting an eloquent and sophisticated response.

"…they just don't work."

Eli slowly extended his hand across the coffee table separating him and his prey, and placed a light hand on Blaine's knee. Blaine did not reject it. And for that he hated himself.

He hated that this was the first human interaction he had had in months. He hated that this was the first sign of sympathy anyone—including Kurt—had shown him since the love of his life abandoned him. But what he hated most was that when he closed his eyes, he couldn't tell the difference between Eli's hand and Kurt's.

Blaine Anderson had never been properly loved until he met Kurt Hummel. He had been admired, adored, idolized; but never truly loved. His father had shown him nothing but ignorance, indifference, and cold-hearted cruelty.

"Serves you well," he scolded Blaine, as the battered boy arrived home late from a dance one evening. "The bruises fit you. Maybe they finally beat the gay out of you, you fag of a son."

As head Warbler, he hoped he could finally discover for himself what it meant to truly love—and be loved in return. But this idea of mutual compassion did not come so easily to him. It became hard to separate admiration for true, unselfish love. While the familial loyalty and appreciation from his fellow Warblers gave him a security in himself the lambasted boy within him never knew he could possess, he found himself longing for a feeling he too could return to someone else—one special someone.

"I know a short cut," he said. He lied. He took the long way around.

All he knew was the angelic being standing before him was perfect and had the most delicate hands he had ever seen. He took the boy's hand in his and guided him down the hallway, purposely passing the choir room's most convenient entrance. His hand fit perfectly in his, like clasps, filling every inch of his hand where it was empty. No one had ever held Blaine Anderson's hand before Kurt Hummel.

What was he thinking? Not being able to tell the difference between the hands of the love of his life and a grimy, hormonal being like Eli. He was disgusted with himself. He was again plagued with the self-loathing he first experienced the night of the Sadie Hawkins dance. Perhaps he really was as repulsive as those boys had said.

He peeled Eli's finger from his thigh (they had now sneakily traveled northwards) and began to head for the door.

"Do you and Kurt ever have phone sex?"

Blaine turned around in shock, his mouth open and limp. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Anderson. I'm not being nosy, it's just a question."

"Why do you even care?" asked Blaine defensively, making his way back to the sofa. He did not sit down so he could tower above Eli.

"Fine, if you don't want to tell me, don't tell me," Eli responded as he got up and made his way to the kitchen.

Blaine mulled it over. "We do… err, at least we did. Not really anymore I guess. Kurt just doesn't have time for that kind of stuff."

Eli peeked his head out from the kitchen doorway. "That stuff? Blaine, that kind of stuff is really important to your relationship. I mean, you guys were each other's firsts, right? Dry spells hurt even more when you're each other's first tastes of the stuff."

"You know what, Eli, there is more to a relationship than just sex. I know you may not think so since you spend your nights haunting an old gay bar, but if you were in a real relationship, you would understand," said Blaine, clearly irritated.

Eli silently and solemnly approached Blaine, placing two slim wine glasses on the coffee table as he did. He spoke softly. "When's the last time someone touched you?" He pressed the tip of his pointer finger to Blaine's collarbone. "When's the last time someone told you that you mattered enough to be—" he was barely whispering now, drawing nearer to Blaine's ear. "—touched."

The actor had secured his role. The hunter had secured its prey.

He approached the glasses again and poured the wine into them. He spoke loosely. "I know your type, Anderson. Daddy didn't care for you too much, I'm assuming. No one ever gave you a second look. The love Pop-Pop gave you was non-existent and the love your precious Warblers gave you was, well, empty." Eli drew a tear streaming down his face with his pointer finger, almost mockingly. "So Kurt comes along and you can finally be you. You can finally drop that cute little mask you've been wearing all that time as 'the leader' and the one that's gotta be strong for the rest of your little avian singers. That mask that tells the whole fucking world that you love who you are. That you've been bullied, but it's all in the past. I'm Blaine Anderson, and I've been through the ringer and come out a better person. Bullshit.

"You still want Daddy's love, even though you know you'll never get it. You still want him to love you like he loved Coop—" (Blaine began to recall the intoxicated rant he embarked on in front of Eli at Sandals a few nights prior) "You still want those bullies to give you a big fat hug instead of a big fat black eye. You still want someone to love you. And when it finally happens, you're so fucking overcome, that you drop everything you have. But here's the thing about love Blaine—" he handed a glass of wine to Blaine. "—the thing they don't tell you in the movies. Everybody leaves. People move on. And that's what Kurt is doing right now. And now that your entire world is imploding and you don't have Kurtsie to cling to for safety, well, you're really screwed aren't you? It's just being confirmed again and again that no one loves you—and no one will. So what's gonna make you feel loved, Blaine? Even if it's just for tonight?"

"Just for tonight…" Blaine whispers, utterly defeated.

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the face of a liar, a cheater—a failure. A failure of a son, a failure of a leader, a failure of a lover. The consequences for whatever happened tonight were those that Blaine deserved. Maybe tonight is what could set Kurt free.

He turned the bathroom doorknob, his satin rub soothing his naked skin, with the full knowledge that what awaited him on the other side was going to change everything. He turned it slowly, savoring this moment as it would be the last that he and Kurt would be… perfect.

He finally pushed open the door to see Eli waiting for him in a foreign bed in a foreign room in this foreign apartment with this foreign man.

I have to let you go, his heart cried.

He took one step towards the bed, two, three. He was at the foot of it now, Eli's anxious eyes scanning him anxiously.

An inaudible whisper escaped his lips.

"I'm so sorry…"

His lips collided with Eli's too roughly for his liking. Eli peeled away the covers concealing him and hoisted Blaine directly on top of him, skin to skin. He kissed Blaine furiously, as if he was in a hurry. Kurt always kissed Blaine slowly, surely, exploring every inch of his mouth. It was going to be harder to imagine Kurt than he thought tonight.

After Eli was content, he suddenly escaped from under Blaine and approached him from behind. Blaine was secretly thankful he wouldn't have to see Eli's face during. He felt the foreigner enter him with a vigor contrasting Kurt's delicate ways. This was wrong, all wrong. But still, it artificially—and very temporarily—filled an emptiness that had plagued Blaine for months now. An emptiness left by Kurt. Kurt, who never picked up his phone. Kurt, who cancelled phone dates. Kurt, who was always too tired to do anything on Skype. Most of all, the emptiness was left by the very same Kurt that had been oblivious to all of Blaine's loneliness ever since he first arrived in New York. It was finally clear: Blaine was being left behind, ignored, forgotten. So it was time to forget Kurt right back.

Kurt was the love of Blaine's life. Never again in his lifetime would he ever find another that could even remotely compare. But Kurt's first love was his dream, something Blaine had never really had before. As Eli collapsed next to Blaine, having finished, a tear sped down the cheater's clean-shaven cheek. He had just cheated on the love of his life. He was going to lose the love of his life. And he deserved it.

No more would he have to try to pretend that a once great love, now mangled by distance and distraction, was still what it once was. What was worse? Having to accept this insufficient and dying love as the only one he would ever receive, dragging Kurt down with him? Or just end the relationship entirely and set the worthy free? He really didn't know the answer. But the single tear turned into body shaking sobs, and he couldn't stand being in his own skin. He felt tainted and disgusting. Kurt was his purity, and Eli the ultimate sin. However, his sobs were drowned out by the sound of Teenage Dream beginning to play on Eli's Pandora station for the evening. He wanted to die. He wanted Kurt. He wanted to go back. He wanted Kurt to be free, and this was the only way. He had accepted this new life of meaningless nights, and struggled to forget his own teenage dream.


End file.
